Today we celebrate the abbreviated life of David Gentiles. I don't understand it, nor do I believe I won't see him again, arms folded across his chest, listening intently, bursting into animated gesticulation without warning. Surely during his memorial, fittingly on a baseball field, he will jump up from the stands and proclaim it all a farce, hugging everyone and laughing because we are all together.
What I do understand is that it is my turn to do those things myself that I depended on David for: the dirty jobs he shouldered without complaint, the attention he paid without tiring, the trials he endured alone. It is now my challenge to step up and do as needs doing, to love as needs loving, behaviors I'm afraid of.
It is hard to say or see right now, but I somehow trust in shalom: all must be as it should be.
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